


Glad you Came

by LustMonster



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Captivity, M/M, Mpreg, Overlord Magneto to the Rescue, Stripper!Charles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-14
Updated: 2012-03-03
Packaged: 2017-10-26 02:32:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/277682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LustMonster/pseuds/LustMonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Charles is an unwilling stripper at the Hellfire Club working under Emma Frost and Erik is a client entranced by him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally just a fun little oneshot for my lovely Guru, that somehow managed to turn into a full-fledged, serious, smutty fic. I'm not even sorry, though~

Hellfire.

 

Not just torment by the flames in a sinner’s afterlife accompanied by the ever-present brimstone and omniscient crimson-skinned devil. The thought of it as such was almost amusing, especially given Azazel’s scarlet visage.

 

Charles tried to smile to himself as he sat in his dressing room at the Hellfire Club, patting a light powder onto his cheeks and nose to reduce the shine from the stage lights.

 

“Charles, sugar, your party will be here in ten,” Emma’s voice was light and airy as she poked her head in the doorway, smiling pleasantly but always with that sharp diamond-edge. _Be a good boy, yes?_ Her mind was a subtle brush against his, and he attempted to reach out in response but flinched when the combination of Emma’s telepathic-blockers sending needles into his brain and the mutation-specific shock-collar reacted at the same time. She giggled pleasantly and ruffled his chestnut hair with her soft, ivory hands.

 

“Will you ever learn?” She admonished gently, kissing his temple, mocking him further, and patting his forearm. “Make yourself extra-pretty, alright Sugar? Erik’s a friend.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

“There’s my good boy.”

 

“Of course.” Charles forced a smile, knowing only to a trained eye would it seem at all off. A friend of Emma’s, how wonderful.

 

***

 

“The kids will be fine,” Christian assured, patting Erik’s back as they stepped out of the nondescript black car rented just for his thirtieth birthday celebration. The taller man, however, looked unconvinced.

 

“Are you sure about that babysitter?”

 

“Positive. C’mon, enjoy yourself! Live a little! Emma’ll be cross with you if you’re distracted and mopey on your birthday when she put so much effort into it.”

 

Erik grunted his ascent and followed the rest of the quartet into the Hellfire Club through the back entrance and into what Janos simply called the “real club.”

 

Scantily clad women still flitted about, but they were intermixed with men and all are mutants of some sort, the patrons being exclusively mutant.

 

“Erik, darling!” Emma called from an upstairs balcony, waving the party over, grinning and decked out in diamonds and ivory, as per usual. The men followed her indications upstairs to a secluded room that still allowed them to see into the club, dimly lit and a smorgasbord of dainty finger foods and expensive liquors laid out.

 

“Happy birthday, sugar.” She smiled and led him by the hand to one of the several plush couches. “Thirty already, my how the time flies.”

 

“Indeed.” His smile was forced but either the telepath didn’t notice or decided not to comment on it.

 

“Now for your present!”

 

“Already?”

 

She winked. “You’ll want it now.” Like the pampered princess she was, Emma lifted a small bell from a side-table and rang it, smiling deviously and waiting. One of the panels in the wall slid open and a young men stepped out, eyes downcast.

 

Chestnut waves fell like water down his forehead, properly obscuring most of his face save for a slash of red Erik assumes was his lips. He wore a silver collar, the skin around it irritated and somewhat scaly as if healing from burns. Other than that, he wore only form-fitting shorts that showed off a perky, firm ass and toned, milk-white legs and a long-sleeved slip of a shirt which clung to his shoulders by a wish.

 

“Say hello, Sugar.” Emma nudged the young man, who looked up through his lashes before opening his eyes fully to reveal the most captivatingly blue irises Erik had ever seen.

 

“Hello, Mr. Lehnsherr. Happy birthday.”

 

“You got me…one of your employees?”

 

“Don’t look so offended, Erik. He’s not just some employee, he’s special.” She smoothed his hair back and curled it around his ear, the action oddly fond for someone like Emma Frost who so often lived up to her Ice Queen name.

 

“So you got me a, um, ‘special’ employee?”

 

“Yes. Come on, boys, let’s let Erik enjoy his gift.” She gestured to the other men and smiled far too widely, making even Erik shudder, though he managed to curtail it before the motion became visible. Loyal to the bitter end, Azazel, Janos and Christian followed the smaller woman out of the room, leaving Erik alone with the stripper. The collared man sauntered to the gramophone in the corner, setting it up and letting the needle drift down.

 

A sensual, saxophone-heavy track floated out, and he moved in time to it, eyes boring into Erik’s like well-aimed daggers. He did a neat twirl but never broke pace, fingers slowly dragging up the loose shirt, finally hooking into the hem and pulling it off smoothly. Erik’s gaze moved to the newly exposed, lilywhite chest, his teeth chewing mercilessly at his lower lip. Every line of his body was practically perfection, the slight shadows of his ribs and the sharp ‘v’ cutting through his flat abdomen. It was as if when he was created, all of his coloring was intensified, from the blue of his eyes and redness of those soft lips to the outstanding white of his skin and pinkness of his pert nipples.

 

It took a moment to register everything that was happening when that beautiful creature lowered himself onto Erik’s lap, looking at him with bedroom eyes and a small smile quirking up the corner of his mouth. His hips moved in tight, concentric circles, arms falling onto Erik’s shoulders.

 

A small, detached part of his brain knew there was still music, but all Erik could hear was the rustling of fabric against fabric every time the man brushed against him, his quick breaths. The man moved like a snake, sinuous and self-assured as he pressed his body to Erik’s and wound them together and apart. He was graceful and there was none of the tasteless trashiness strippers generally possessed.

 

The man pulled away long enough to begin peeling off his shorts, slipping them down those impossibly long, slender legs and revealing…nothing. Erik stared, rapt, at the sight of the beautiful, naked man, feeling his cock twitch longingly after being practically celibate since the birth of his children.

 

“Relax,” he said gently, voice low and throaty but decidedly English in its cadence. Erik started to ask what he meant, but the question died in his throat when the man dropped to his knees on the rug in front of Erik, looking up and fluttering his lashes. It didn’t occur to Erik to protest until his pants were already pooling at his ankles and those scarlet lips were parting and a perfectly pink tongue was flicking against his head, testing the waters.

 

“Wait.” Erik gasped, trying to calm his erratic pulse. The man looked up, his mouth in the middle of taking Erik in.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Name.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Your name. What is it?”

 

“I hardly—”

 

“ _Name_.”

 

He flushed and looked down then back up. “Charles.”

 

“Charles. Okay, then, _Charles_. You can—”

 

Without further ado, Charles plunged back between Erik’s legs like a man possessed, sliding those perfect lips around his cock, mouth fitting his length and thickness like a custom-made glove. And that tongue, Erik felt it tracing patterns up and down his shaft, probing and poking so lightly it was like being touched by damp butterflies. He squirmed under the younger man’s hot mouth and let out a startled groan when the tip of his cock met the back of Charles’ throat.

 

“Oh _god_ ,” he managed out, hips bucking of their own volition. The apology he wanted to give withered away when Charles began bobbing his head, allowing Erik’s cock to hit that same spot each time he moved forward. Erik felt heat building behind his navel and tried to tell Charles he was close, but it came out as a series of strangled half-words that fell on deaf ears, or so he figured when, instead of pulling away, Charles hollowed his cheeks.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Erik hissed, coming with a jerk, half in Charles’ mouth and half on his face. The cum dripped down the younger man’s face and onto his bare thigh.

 

“I’m—” Those eyes locked with his and never left as Charles wiped it from his cheek and leg, popping one finger into his mouth, then the second, third and fourth, sucking off the cum with a look of pure enjoyment. Erik groaned and felt his spent cock twitch, but just slightly, and Charles was too busy cleaning his fingers to notice.

 

“Perfection,” Erik heard himself murmur in amazement, reaching down to tilt Charles’ head up. He looked back, confused, and bit his lip nervously. Whatever Charles had been expecting, Erik was sure it wasn’t for Erik to kiss him languidly, running his tongue along the other mutant’s lower lip lazily and smiling at the taste of himself. The moment of shock left Charles’ lips slightly parted and Erik took the advantage to slip his tongue in, to explore the talented mouth. Always the surprising one, Charles, pushed upwards, settling himself back in Erik’s lap, though this time his intent wasn’t the same. It was an easy kiss, and Erik took the advantage to map the hills and valleys of Charles’ mouth with his tongue.

 

The smaller man moaned and tangled his damp fingers in Erik’s hair, clasping their faces together, welded at the mouth. Erik quickly lost himself in the heat and glory of the naked stripper in his lap, now kissing him desperately like a man starved for oxygen finally inhaling.

 

When they finally broke apart, only a sliver of that petal blue was visible around Charles’ blown out pupils. That crimson mouth shone with saliva and there was a puffiness around the kiss-bruised lips that made him look even more delectable. Erik ran a large hand down his side, reveling in the smooth whiteness of his skin, slightly flushed with lust. He hazarded a glance down at the younger’s now-erect cock, the head glistening with beads of pre-come. It occurred to him to wonder if he had ever seen anything more beautiful, but dismissed the thought as foolishness.

 

However, before he could think ahead from that moment, the door slammed open. Emma was radiant, frigid blue eyes twinkling with amusement. Charles blanched and immediately disentangled himself from Erik, erection going limp in seconds.

 

“So you like him.” She grinned and laughed. “I figured you would. Just your type, right doll?”

 

“Yes.” Erik shrugged noncommittally. “Very…talented mouth.”

 

“That’s our professor,” she cooed, pinching Charles’ cheek patronizingly and chuckling.

 

“Professor?”

 

“In his, ah, _former_ life.” Emma shrugged and murmured something to Charles, who obediently redressed and took up a position beside the gramophone, all warmth and light having fled his eyes.

 

“So what is he?” Erik drawled, buckling his pants and rearranging his mussed suit.

 

“Telepath. Repressed, but a telepath.” Her tinkling giggle was blood-chilling. “He’s not yet, ah, cooperative. But we’re breaking him, one day at a time.” She gave Charles a mock-fond smile and settled daintily on the edge of the other sofa, crossing her slender ankles and leaning forward conspiratorially. “So, how are the little ones?”

 

Erik leaned back, combing his hair down. “They’re doing well. Wanda’s just learned to say ‘no,’ bringing her vocabulary up to a whopping ‘Papa’ and ‘no.’ Both which seem to fit ninety percent of her needs.”

 

“What a darling.” Emma grinned. “And Pi-dear?”

 

“Pietro is still going the ‘make-noises-and-expect-comprehension’ route.” He slid a gleaming, silver cigarette case from his interior coat pocket, followed by an equally metallic lighter, and lit the cylinder, inhaling deeply. “I’m sure I’ll be gray by the time they hit double-digits.”

 

“Poor dear.” She sympathized, waving her hand in a vaguely comforting manner. “Wanda is such a dear, you really must let me take her shopping. And do something with that hair of hers. It’s so lovely but you have such a _man_ ’s touch, it’s tragic.” She reprimanded drolly.

 

“Yes, yes, of course.” Erik rolled his eyes. “So have you stolen my present away for the night? Is this it?”

 

“Not at all, sugar.” Emma snickered. “The party is just beginning.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost: I have to apologize for taking about an entire age to post this chapter, but I finally got it to be what and where I want it to be. It's my Winter Break now, so I'm planning to be updating a lot more frequently and writing a lot!

“Don’t get involved.” That was Azazel’s advice on what Janos and Christian had dubbed "Strippergate." It was sound, he knew. Azazel’s advice often was, and in most cases he followed it. Tactically, the teleporter was one of their best men, and the Brotherhood’s military division flourished under the combined power of their strategies.

 

The dainty White Queen, the fierce Magneto and the nightmarish Russian Devil. Though humans only knew to fear Emma and Erik, everyone within the Brotherhood recognized the sway Azazel held within the infrastructure. Recognized his brilliance.

 

However, on this particular issue, Erik found himself having difficulties listening. The Hellfire Club was Emma’s territory, though the Brotherhood had absorbed it after the dethroning and destruction of Sebastian Shaw. Nonetheless, Erik didn’t interfere with what she did there. Whether some of the mutants were there against their will, he turned a blind eye, he was simply happy to bolster their ranks.

 

But not with this case.

 

Erik avoided the Hellfire as long as he could. He threw himself into planning the Siege of Canada, spent time teaching Wanda and Pietro the French alphabet and being a larger presence in their lives. He went on for several months that way, growing particularly distracted when the actual battle happened and he was being dropped off in the middle of Toronto.

 

As it turned out, however, even a full-scale assault on a country couldn’t fully drive Charles from his mind. Erik found himself throwing cars up to defend his people and stopping waves of machine gun rounds all while remembering the curve of Charles’ back when he arched it, the blue of his eyes. Remembering the short conversation they’d had after Emma left them alone for a second time.

 

It wasn’t as if Canada—and, inevitably, Alaska—was a walk in the park. When American allies joined the fray, the battles became longer, more exhausting, and Erik found himself missing not only his children, but Charles as well, worrying after all three’s safety, though he knew they would be fine with Jean, Scott and a few others there to watch over them. He put everything he had into the skirmishes, watching with pride as Tempest held Havok—for that was all they could be on the battlefield—in her arms, which had gotten markedly stronger, and soared over the battlefield, shooting acid and plasma beams at the enemy.

 

By the time the Canadian government decided to surrender, Erik felt what he’d hoped would die down threatening to consume him. When he stepped onstage holding Emma’s hand delicately in his own, raised as a show of partnership, of unity, Erik felt the first surge of happiness he’d had in months. The crowds of dirty, beaten mutant faces looking up at the pair of them reverently was enough to make even his cold heart sing.

 

Emma was as lovely and gleaming as ever in the afternoon sun, her long hair piled atop her head and secured by ivory and diamond combs she’d received as a gift from the Chinese ambassador’s wife. As usual, the svelte woman was clad in nothing but purest, blinding white, a knee-length, form-fitting dress paired with fur shrug and heeled boots. She looked brilliant beside a battle-scarred Erik who’d traded his usual battle regalia for a more sensible black suit (at Emma’s insistence), the helmet still gleaming atop his head.

 

It was there that they declared their victory over Canada, the Brotherhood’s new dominion. The mutants—and few human sympathizers—cheered wildly at the speeches of their new leaders, Magneto and the White Queen.

 

As Erik stepped off the stage, all he wanted was to share this victory with Charles.

 

***

 

Emma was still in Canada when Erik arrived at the Hellfire Club.

 

He was greeted by a grinning Christian. “You survived Canada!” He grinned and clapped Erik on the back. “But you’re not here just to see little old me, are you?”

 

“Not today.”

 

“It’s the telepath, isn’t it?”

 

“It is. Take me to him.”

 

“Well he’s not really up to—go on up to the VIP room, I’ll bring him in momentarily.” Christian grinned with all the sparkliness of his sister and swept off to the rooms the dancers occupied. Erik did as instructed, sitting back on one of the couches and relaxing into the plush cushion.

 

The wait was annoyingly long, especially for a man so full of energy and impatience, jiggling his leg and frowning at the shaded light fixtures. When the door finally opened, Christian emerged with the stripper, who looked markedly more downtrodden than last time Erik had seen him.

 

The slender creature walked with a poorly disguised limp instead of his usual grace and makeup could only do so much to disguise the puffiness of an abused face, concealing the hues of angry purple but betraying the swelling. He was more properly dressed this time: a white button-up with more buttons undone than the opposite and loose cotton pants, the collar still glaring from his throat. His hair was damp as if it had recently been washed and toweled dry, the edges curling against his neck, and he was barefoot.

 

“Here you are, one Charles, primped and ready.” Christian gestured to the collared telepath with a flourish and megawatt smile Charles gave a pale echo of. The Frost brother exited the room shortly thereafter, though not before dithering over the wine and number of pillows and other such trivialities.

 

“Good evening, Mr. Lehnsherr.” Charles’ voice was a purr, not betraying the pain he was sure to be in trying to maintain his usual measured strut across the room and not show he was favoring one leg. He slipped onto Erik’s lap as if he possessed no bones nor substance beyond that of smoke. Pianist’s fingers curled in his hair and he brought Erik in for a kiss that had him back to the night of his party in an instant, his lips as soft and inviting as ever.

 

It was only when Charles began moving those narrow hips that Erik realized there was music playing, wondering how he’d been so entranced to not have noticed. The beat was  much like before: slow, jazzy, with a sinuous feel to it that paired effortlessly with the undulating movements of Charles’ lithe body. If he was in pain, it didn’t show, and Erik let his eyes slip shut. It became easy to pretend he hadn’t seen Charles limp, or the telltale signs of bruising on his face with that small body rocking and sliding against his, charming his erection to life with the ease of an old pro.

 

In fact, Erik didn’t open his eyes until those small hands left his shoulders. His gaze immediately homed in on Charles unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way and letting it fall somewhere behind him.

 

That was when the spell broke.

 

Clumsily wrapped bandages enveloped his chest from the bottom of his ribcage to the start of that delicate collarbone. Erik’s hands clamped down on those determined little hips and Charles stiffened.

 

“Wha’s a-matter?” His voice was low, somewhere between a whisper and normal volume, slightly raspy like he’d just been well fucked.

 

“You’re hurt.” Erik gestured to the bandaging and scowled.

 

“I can still perform.” Charles shrugged noncommittally. “I’m hardy.”

 

“Nonsense. You need to rewrap those.”

 

“I can do that la—”

 

“No. Sit still.” Now almost completely flaccid, Erik sat straighter, peeling the tap that secured the shoddy job slowly, sticking it to Charles’ chin and grinning when the dancer scrunched up his face, then laughed. It was infectious, and Erik paused unwrapping Charles to lean his head against a portion of his exposed skin and laugh into it, as if the mirth could wash away all that ailed him. Charles’ fingers slipped through his hair and the moment was achingly tender. The touch lingered until Erik sat back up and the expression on the injured man’s face was unreadable before sliding into an easy smile.

 

“Thank you for that.”

 

“What?” Erik resumed his quick removal of the cloth bandages, not looking up from his work.

 

“I haven’t laughed in quite some time.”

 

“You should try it more often, it looks good on you.”

 

“I’ll remember that.”

 

The injuries warranting the bandages were poorly stitched and crisscrossed Charles’ pale chest in angry crimson slashes with ragged edges that suggested they hadn’t been made with a knife, unless it was serrated and dull.

 

“What the hell happened?” He demanded, fingers ghosting above the multitude of lacerations.

 

“This is what happens to those who don’t submit to Emma the White Bitch.” Charles’ voice was bitter and frigid. “When you don’t give her exactly what she wants she kicks up a little tantrum and then this happens.” He gestured to his beaten body with a cruel smile.

 

“ _Emma_ did this?”

 

“More or less.” He shrugged. “The glorious White Queen delegates so she doesn’t have to _actually_ get blood on her hands. As appealing as ‘Emma the Red’—” he smirked at his own reference “—or ‘The Red Queen’ sounds, they’ve already cast her in ivory and cream and that just won’t do for business, now will it?”

 

“Who did it?”

 

“Some thugs she had with her. Can’t say I remember too well what with my skull being used as a pinball and my telepathy stolen from me.”

 

Erik bristled at the thought of Emma allowing something like that to happen. He knew the woman’s concepts of ‘okay’ and ‘too far’ were something far different from his own—she _had_ served under Shaw for a time—but he couldn’t imagine hurting Charles. 

 

“Why don’t you give in? You could be much more effective from the inside than resisting.”

 

“Because she takes from me. She takes and takes and takes she and Magneto the fierce and wise, leaders of the free mutants. And I refuse to play with their kind.”

 

“Their…’kind’.”

 

“I don’t want to fight humans, Erik.” Charles shook his head. “Yes, there are those who would harm us and I believe in protecting our own, but not all are innately cruel or hateful. They cast a broad-stroke over an entire race and I can’t stand for that. Why can’t we all be equal? With strict lines of what is and is not acceptable and move forth. A mutant _and_ human government with a prosperous, harmonious outcome! If mutants are to eventually outnumber the human race and see it through to its end, so be it, but I shall not stand idly by while we oppress another race simply out of fear!” Charles’ cheeks were flushed with passion, color high in the apples, his eyes bright and shining with an intense fervor.

 

“I’ve seen what humans do to mutants. Humans in our government. They capture them, tag them, experiment on them. They want to identify us, destroy us if we don’t play by their rules.” Erik shook his head. “With that kind of government, what hope is there for us?”

 

“Governments do not speak for the whole of humanity.”

 

“But they lead it.”

 

“But governments are transitory! They are replaced, they cycle in and out, throw an upstanding, intelligent mutant in there, which him or her change their minds, see the _change_ that can come out of it.”

 

“You don’t think there weren’t attempts? To placate the humans while furthering the rights of mutantkind?”

 

“Try harder.”

 

“Charles, the government may not _be_ the people, but it _controls_ the people. If they said ‘round up and identify every mutant’ they would do it for fear of punishment. ‘Good’ humans would betray us for their own hide, it’s their way.”

 

“So we kill them.”

 

“So we _make_ them see. We _make_ them treat us with the respect we deserve. We’re the next step, they need to see that and treat us like more than second-class citizens.”

 

“Fear is not the answer!”

 

“Neither is sitting in a fucking circle singing ‘Kumbaya’ and saying ‘pretty please accept us? Look, I have a pie chart!’”

 

Charles scowled and winced as Erik wrapped the bandage a bit too tightly in his outburst. He immediately sobered, sighing.

 

“Listen—”

 

“I don’t see how one can be fighting for mutant rights and equality and supremacy yet chain your own like an animal that won’t obey.” Charles’ voice was sharp but his eyes were sad.

 

“I’m sorry, Charles.”

 

“Me too.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, SO sorry for the ridiculously long wait on this (and all my stories) I've been completely without internet access and still only have very limited access unfortunately, and I was too depressed to do much writing for awhile, but now I'm gonna be trying to get back into really writing. I hope this long ass chapter is worth the long ass wait I've put you all through. 
> 
> **Warning: MPREG. Yes, I went there. *seppuku***

If at all possible, Erik preferred to keep what Emma laughingly called "staff meetings," as infrequent as possible. Though the White Queen and Magneto led the free mutants as a unit, their political interaction--despite their personal friendship--was low. He visited the Hellfire and chatted with Emma about nothing of note, as she tended to visit the Lehnsherr Estate often. It had been agreed early on, however, that their political business would be confined to their recently moved base of operations in the heart of their yet unnamed territory.

 

But the Xavier Situation had made this nearly impossible, despite Erik's preferences. And he found himself sitting in their "war room" with only himself and his co-leader across from one another, drinking coffee and discussing their next campaign while the metal wielder gathered his thoughts.

 

"Erik, what are you dancing around? I don't need telepathy to tell you want to breach another topic. Spit it out, sugar."

 

"It's Charles Xavier," he blurted, and she leaned back into her chair.

 

"I figured as much. I may not be able to read you, but he's easy pickings. Without his telepathy, his mind screams like any other, albeit with better shielding. But since you've, ah, _increased your intimacy_ in the past several months, it's been easier to hear him. Like he wants me to know every detail of your interactions."

 

"Yes, well, he--"

 

"I don't usually permit clients to sleep with the dancers. Especially not Xavier, he's...special."

 

"Because he's valuable."

 

"Among other things. Though perhaps..."

 

"Perhaps?"

 

"Violence doesn't work, and threats can only do so much. But _you_ , Erik. Your relationship could be just what we need to coax it out of him."

 

"Coax _what_ out of him? What exactly is it you want from Xavier?"

 

"Another telepath, and one of his caliber is nothing to sniff at. Charles Xavier is the strongest telepath I've come across, and he could be invaluable. Especially when he unlocks his secondary mutation."

 

"So you want him...for the cause."

 

"Of course." Emma laughed daintily. "And if you took Charles as yours, helped him to see the rightness of our cause...just imagine what we could do."

 

"Why do you need _him_? You're a telepath, too."

 

"As I said: the strongest telepath I've come across. His range is outstanding, and he has a charisma and likable quality that neither you nor myself can copy. You and I appeal to different people than he would. With Charles at our side, we could coerce the entire mutant population to our side. They would be malleable, Erik."

 

"You've been thinking a lot on this, I see."

 

"I see the bigger picture, Erik. And it's beautiful. Between the three of us,...mutants could claim their rightful place by the end of the decade. Imagine it. You and I at the helm of the entire mutant population. And you would get your telepath, a mother," she made an unladylike noise, "for your children. Everyone wins."

 

"So I can bring him to live with me, take off the collar, if I...?"

 

"Show him reason. And let me continue to help him with his telepathy."

 

"That's it? You'd let him quit so easily?"

 

"Erik, I can find more dancers. More Xaviers...hmph, I only wish. That aside, he hasn't been much use lately. Always tired and nauseous or feverish." She added the last bit as an afterthought almost too quiet to be audible.

 

A spike of eagerness shot through Erik like an adrenaline rush. "When can I collect him?"

 

"Whenever you like, oh Magneto."

 

Emma rolled her eyes and he laughed. "My humble thanks, fair and frosty White Queen."

 

"Oh, and Erik? Before you go."

 

He paused mid-stand. "Yes?"

 

"I know you and Charles have been going at it like rabbits. Have you been using protection?"

 

"I hardly--"

 

"I'll take that as a no."

 

"No, not always. Why?"

 

"Simple curiosity."

 

_______________________

 

It had been far too long since he saw Charles last, and Erik was using all his self-control to keep from dashing through the club to collect his telepath. Emma had called Christian ahead of time to have her brother ready Charles for the trip to Lehnsherr Estate, but the collar would remain until they arrived.

 

Charles' room was in almost the exact same place as it had been at the old club, but it was far more spacious and less like a cell. The professor was leaning against a mound of pillows when Erik flung the door open, book open in his slender hands. He looked up immediately, as if sensing rather than hearing his lover and a smile curled his lips like the sun breaking the clouds. The smaller of the two put his book down and crawled to the edge of the bed, intercepting Erik at it and greeting him with an open-mouthed kiss.

 

Erik allowed himself to lose some semblance of self as he kissed Charles. His hands roamed the smaller body like a blind man reading a raised map and let distraction consume him like the fire blooming in his groin. The shape beneath his fingers was different yet the same. In some places, Charles felt decidedly softer, in others the same or thinner. His body was oddly warm and supple, there was something more to hold.

 

When he finally pulled back, Charles was flushed and breathless. His eyes were ringed with dark circles and he looked tired, but happy.

 

"It's been nearly two months," the telepath accused lightly, blue eyes pinning Erik like a butterfly to a corkboard.

 

"Forgive me?"

 

"Always." Charles grinned, tracing the sharp lines of his lover's face with gentle fingers. "Why have you been away?"

 

"Work. And my children."

 

"Oh yes, Pietro and Wanda. How are they?"

 

"Getting bigger every day."

 

The professor smiled wistfully. In their nearly six months of acquaintance, Erik had noted that sad smile only a few times, but never discovered its catalyst for appearance.

 

"I have a surprise for you."

 

Charles laughed easily, brows raising. "Oh really?"

 

"Oh really." He wrapped his arms around the telepath, smiling and kissing a 'T' across his face. "I'm bringing you to live with me. If you like, that is."

 

"What? Are you--how?"

 

"I've known Emma Frost a long time, and I've...worked out a deal with her. The particulars are irrelevant, but you can stay with me should you choose. There are, however, some conditions to this."

 

"Of course there are." Charles sighed. "Alright. Shoot."

 

"You must stay within the estate, or with me. And we will work on improving your telepathy. Any additions to this and I'll tell you."

 

"Hm." He considered. "I have some...prerequisites of my own."

 

"Really."

 

"Yes." Charles curled his hair behind his ears and straightened. "Before I was brought here I had a school for mutants. Some of my...students defected when brought here. Others, like my sister, remain here. I want you to get them out, and make it so I can see them."

 

"You drive a hard bargain, Charles."

 

"You got me out, you can get them. Please, Erik. They want no part in this fight. And I want them to have a _choice_ , the choice I didn't--and don't--have."

 

"Charles..."

 

"Please, Erik. I can't watch over them from there like I have. They're my family, I need you to do this for me."

 

"Fine. What are their names?"

 

"Hank McCoy, Sean Cass--"

 

"What do they go by here?"

 

"Alex and Angel have--" he shook himself. "Beast, Banshee, Mystique, Gambit, Storm, Rogue and Cyclops."

 

"That's a lot more than expected, but I'll do my best."

 

"Thank you, Erik."

 

"Always." He looked at the telepath who held sway over his heart and drew him near.

 

_______________________

 

The Lehnsherr Estate was an odd mix of the unavoidable ostentatiousness of manors and a reserved austerity. A tall, stone wall wrapped around its perimeter, drawing one's attention to just how large it was. One road led up to it, long and winding. Charles stared out the window, breathing through his nose to stop the nausea that claimed him an hour into the drive. Erik looked over from the driver's seat, his concern apparent in the way he gripped the wheel and let his foot down on the gas like a weight.

 

They pulled into a circular driveway where two young children, watched by an elderly woman, played. Something about the little girl and boy--Pietro and Wanda, he guessed--made his heart tremble and his gut clench, but he ignored it in favor of watching Erik's tense expression melt into one of absolute adoration.

 

"That's them," he confirmed, and Charles smiled.

 

The children had paused in their play, staring at the car with their father and a man they didn't know. Wanda's red-brown curls blew about in the wind, her dark, doll-like eyes wide and curious, the same going for her ivory-haired brother. They stood together, the boy slightly ahead of his sister, hands clasped.

 

When Erik got out of the car, though, they broke their somewhat skittish demeanor and ran toward him with a simultaneous cry of "papa!" Slower, Charles followed suit, leaning against the door when he closed it, his skin like a furnace, yet the breeze chilling him.

 

"Pietro, Wanda." Erik kneeled, taking one child's hand in each of his. "I want you to meet Charles, he's very special to me." They nodded, looking over at the telepath who was making his way over. "Charles, this is Pietro and Wanda. Say hello to Mr. Charles."

 

"Hi," Wanda spoke up shyly, her chubby cheeks stretching into a bright smile.

 

Seemingly not wanting to be outdone by his sister, Pietro marched forward and said, “Hi!” his big brown eyes gleaming with mistrust mixed in with the same inquisitiveness in Wanda’s.

 

“Hello Pietro, hello Wanda.” Charles smiled down at the children, trying to stave off the nausea sweeping him like a tidal wave. He faltered, overcome by dizziness and fatigue.

 

“Charles?” Erik’s voice was soft, a gentle hum.

 

“Just a little dizzy for a moment.” The telepath waved his hand and Erik nodded, allowing this.

 

“Mr. Charles is going to be staying with us for a while, so I want you to make him feel welcome, alright?” Erik gave his children a stern look. Pietro giggled and nodded furiously, his sister echoing the motion, but far slower. She kept her dark eyes on Charles as if he were a fascinating animal she’d never had the pleasure of observing and was trying to figure out. Though seemingly shier than her brother, Wanda was the first to sidle toward the man who was not her father and hold out her small, dimpled hand. He received it with a smile on his lips and followed when she pulled gently.

 

Erik and Pietro came after, neither seeming to know where Wanda was leading their guest until she stopped in the main hall, just in front of a stool. She tugged Charles down onto it, then looked at her father and the collar. “Off.”

 

“Wanda, I can—”

 

“Off.” She insisted, frowning at Erik, who finally knelt beside Charles.

 

He could feel the metal of it, wrapped around that slender, white throat, needles protruding from the interior and digging into the tender flesh. It was a delicate process, pulling them out slowly making sure not to jostle anything vital in Charles’ neck all the while. This took nearly three minutes, after which removing the actual band was child’s play. It fell off Charles’ neck and onto the floor with a clatter.

 

His neck was irritated, red and peeling aside from the holes, which did not immediately ooze blood, but would need looking after. Wanda made a sound of distress at the sight, but Charles was smiling at her. Erik could feel the hum of his lover’s mind against his own and it was pleasant, warm and inviting like a bath of fine wine. It was clear by the way the little girl was nodding that he was speaking to her through this medium, and she calmed down in turn, swallowing down the tears and sadness in her eyes.

 

“Thank you, Erik,” Charles breathed, touching the skin where the collar had been and smiling brighter than a thousand suns.

 

“I gave you my word.”

 

“Now I pray you keep to the other part of our deal.” 

 

_______________________

 

Wanda’s weight in his lap had become familiar, comfortable even, in the time since Charles had come to the Lehnsherr Estate. It had been nearly two months, and proof of how well he was doing had become increasingly evident in his physical as well as mental state. He’d developed an impressive stomach that was round and firm, most of his weight being concentrated there and in his rounding cheeks.

 

No matter how much he exercised or how healthily he ate, the mound of his stomach simply increased. Wanda and Pietro enjoyed touching it gently like their “mama”—for they had dubbed him this early on once they realized what he was to Erik—would explode if they were as rough with it as they were everything else. Erik seemed unperturbed by the change in the telepath’s body, shrugging it off as “more to love” and kissing a line up the curve of Charles’ stomach, effectively silencing any other argument.

 

The nausea and fatigue from the early days had not yet abated, nor had it worsened, though he came to possess an aversion to certain foods, and craving for others. He sat back in the plush pillows of the sofa and considered the changing of his body and habits as Wanda rubbed her hands across his stomach, cheek pressed into it. She hummed gently to herself and spoke in a language she and her brother understood fluently, but only had meaning to Charles when he touched her young mind.

 

“If I keep going at this rate, soon you won’t even be able to sit on Mama’s lap,” he noted, reaching out to run his fingers through the girl’s vibrantly colored hair.

 

She responded in images: Charles’ stomach growing mountainous and her sitting atop it and braiding his hair. He laughed and ruffled the curls between his fingers. “Of course you would.”

 

“Yes!” Wanda chirped, clapping her hands together and hugging Charles’ stomach.

 

“Mr. Xavier?” A voice startled him away from the girl and he looked up at one of the younger mutants that worked here, a teenager named John (though he only responded to “Pyro”).

 

“Yes?”

 

“Mr. Lehnsherr’s back home.”

 

Wanda was off his lap in a minute and scurrying  to see her father, screeching “PAYTRO!” at the top of her lungs until her brother zoomed in, following his sister’s lead. John helped Charles off the couch, lifting him with a grunt that made Charles blush and feel even larger than before. He—more or less—waddled to the front hall where Erik was being climbed like a human jungle gym by the twins.

 

It had been a few weeks since Erik's departure, yet it felt like an eternity as their gazes locked and their bodies gravitated toward one another. The metal wielder's arms around him were warm and safe, and he smelled of the other side of the bed and Home.

 

"I missed you," Charles admitted, and Erik squeezed him tighter.

 

"As I did you." His fingers framed the strong lines of the looming man's face and pulled him down, tasting exhaustion but joy and something distinctly _Erik_ on his lips. That little kiss, the gentle touch on his waist, was enough to light a fire in Charles that seemed more and more frequent and had him dreaming of Erik in increasingly erotic situations when he was away like a depraved teenager.

 

He had to be projecting, because Erik made a small sound in the back of his throat. "Pietro, Wanda, go play. Mama and I need to speak. Alone."

 

"Pa _pa_ ," Pietro whined, though both children were clearly upset at being brushed aside so soon.

 

"Go." Erik didn't wait for a response as he lifted the telepath into his arms--albeit with more difficulty than before--and carried him to their room, locking the door behind them.

 

Though he felt heavy and cumbersome, under Erik's scalding gaze, he felt as lovely as he had at his thinnest. The magnetic mutant laid him back gently, undressed him gently, the urgency all but fled from his mind and replaced by the overwhelming love Erik blanketed him in.

 

By the time they were both naked, they had become languorous in their movements, an uncomplicated dance they both knew well enough with some slight changes. Erik pressed warm, wet kisses into Charles’ prone body, up his sparsely haired legs, the curve of his stomach, pausing to tease those deliciously pink, pert nipples and up the column of Charles’ long neck—leaving marks the whole way—and up to his gaping mouth.

 

Warm fingers spread the telepath open like a newspaper and Erik’s cock was gloriously filling, each thrust bringing their sweat-slicked bodies that much closer together. Charles couldn’t stifle the moans intermixed with gentle whimpers of whispers of sweet words he never would have had the courage to say otherwise. And Erik drank the sounds in with his mouth pressed to his little telepath’s, fingers grasping his distended waistline like Charles was an anchor.

 

When it was all over, they fell together into a familiar position: on their sides, Erik with his arms around Charles, who smiled as he drifted off, too tired to do much more _besides_ rolling over. But it was perfect like that.

 

_______________________

 

Charles’ side of the bed was cold and empty. It looked as if he’d simply gotten up to get a drink of water, like he ought to be there, but the mattress didn’t hold the slight heat of his body’ natural warmth, nor did the pillow. By the moonlight, Erik could tell the telepath wasn’t gazing out the window as he sometimes did, in fact, he wasn’t in the room at all.

 

Sliding on a pair of boxers, the magnetic mutant got out of bed and lumbered downstairs, still half asleep as he searched the dark hallways. The light from the refrigerator shone from beneath the kitchen door, and he pushed it open slowly, hoping to startle Charles just a touch.

 

When he peered around the door, however, all thoughts flew from his mind, and all Erik could do was run to the fallen man’s side. Charles was unconscious before the fridge, the water pitcher he’d dropped holding it open and shining a yellowy light across the wan face.

 

There was no blood, and the professor looked peaceful, but that didn’t stop him from rushing to the phone and punching numbers he knew by heart in.

 

“Hullo?” Dr. Grey sounded as if he’d woken her, voice still thick with sleep.

 

“Jean. It’s Erik, I need you to get here now.”

 

“Are Pietro and Wanda—?”

 

“It’s Charles.”

 

“I’ll be there right away.”

_______________________

 

“Is he alright Dr. Grey?” The woman hovered over Charles’ bed, dithering about in a manner more suited for a child worrying after her father than doctor caring for a patient. She turned, a lock of crimson hair sweeping her forehead, and nodded.

 

“He . . . yes.”

 

“What is it?” There was something _off_ in her expression. Part disturbed, part amazed.

 

“I prefer to speak with Charles privately before and allow him to be the one to tell you.” She touched Charles’ somehow much more frail looking hand with a familiar gentleness and looked down at him again, worry clouding her features.

 

“If there’s something wrong with Charles—”

 

“Mr. Lehnsherr, there’s nothing _wrong_ with Charles.”

 

“Then why do you look like that?”

 

“I—”

 

“Erik?” Charles’ voice was soft, barely more than a croak, but commanded all of his attention. The telepath looked surprised, then smiled, lighting his features but not wholly detracting from how pallid he was. “What’s going on?”

 

“Just a few tests, sweet.” He reached out to brush back Charles’ hair, relief he was awake flashing through his pale eyes. But Charles’ gaze was fixed on the woman, eyes softening and widening in surprise and joy.

 

“Jean.”

 

“Professor.” The two shared an affectionate look of indecipherable meaning.

 

“You know one another?” Erik chimed in, and both nodded.

 

“Jean was one of my students.” He said, then went back to her. “I thought you were dead. When they raided the school . . .” Both the doctor and professor flinched at the memories they were clearly sharing. “Scott was a wreck.”

 

“No. Somehow, I made it out and when I awoke, no one would tell me what became of you and the others save Alex and Angel. They joined the Brotherhood. I put my doctoral skills to use for the . . . opposition. I’m so sorry, professor.” She avoided his gaze, shamefaced.

 

“Don’t apologize, my dear.” Charles soothed her like a man much older would, not someone only a few years her senior. “Helping others is always an admiral occupation, even when they do not share our ideologies. The ability to show compassion to one’s adversary is admirable.”

 

“Thank you, professor.”

 

“Of course, love.”

 

Charles broke contact with Jean and gazed around the room, brows furrowing. “What happened?”

 

“You passed out.”

 

“I have been rather tired as of late.” He shrugged, unconcerned.

 

“Dr. Grey had information on your condition. An explanation, perhaps?” Erik shot her a pointed look, but Jean didn’t seem cowed.

 

“Professor, if I could speak to you in private . . .”

 

“Anything you need to say can be expressed before Erik,” he said placidly, and she bit her lip, giving him a meaningful look. Charles shook his head and she sighed.

 

“Professor, to see what happened and if this was more than simple exhaustion, I ran a series of tests to try and determine this. From what Mr. Lehnsherr told me, you were suffering nausea, fatigue, soreness, back pain and what seemed to be dizzy spells. Yes?”

 

“All true.”

 

“In a woman, I would call these symptoms of a troublesome pregnancy, suggest she get more bed rest and eat a better diet, monitor her more closely. In a man, however, I couldn’t quite explain them. The fatigue and dizziness I could even attribute to you regaining your telepath, the nausea from your time with the Hellfire Club. But all of these things plus nausea, back pain and soreness . . . apart, I can explain. But together was troublesome. So I did blood work, too—”

 

“Jean, love, you’re stalling. Cut to the point, then worry about any questions or explanations.”

 

“I’m not sure—”

 

“Trust me.”

 

“Professor Xavier, you’re—”

 

“No.” Charles was shaking his head, disbelief written across his features. “That’s impossible.”

 

“What’s impossible?”

 

“I’m afraid it’s not, professor. I did an ultrasound and—”

 

“You did _what_?”

 

“—there was clearly a fetus there.”

 

Erik’s mouth was open to cut in again, but snapped shut. Charles was visibly upset, color having returned somewhat to his face, and he was gesturing almost furiously. “That is _impossible_. I’m male and—”

 

“This is your child.” Jean held up a grainy, black and white ultrasound photograph of what was clearly a small person.

 

“No bloody way.” The telepath took it with trembling hands, looking as if he was ready to scream or sob, perhaps both.

 

“How is this possible?” Came Erik’s demand, and Jean sighed.

 

“That was my question, too. So, upon further examination, I discovered that you, professor, are built to carry children as part of a tertiary mutation that has, until now, not been stimulated. I take that to mean you’ve never had unprotected anal sex before your relations with Mr. Lehnsherr?”

 

Charles nodded dumbly.

 

“From what I gathered, while your baby-making organs are similar to that of a female, you also possess those of a man, and they are different. You don’t simply have both reproductive capabilities, in your body they’ve become something of a joint process. Additionally, though, you do still have a womb where your little one currently resides.”

 

“You’ve got to be . . . how can I possibly birth a child?”

 

“Cesarean is the only way I can think of now. You’re about five months along, so I figure we have four to figure that out. And, if you allow it, to run more tests and figure out how this all works.”

 

“No, I don’t want to risk the child . . .” Charles’ expression was slowly becoming less panicked and more amazed. _He_ , a mutant male, was creating life as a man never had. There was a child growing inside of him.

 

Erik stared, open-mouthed, at Charles’ round stomach, wondering how he hadn’t considered such a thing. No, it was completely out of the spectrum of believability, it never would have crossed his mind. But it was so similar, he couldn’t help remembering Magda’s swollen stomach when she was carrying the twins, like she’d swallowed the sun. The glow was the same: soft and bright, round and beautiful, pulsing with _life_ and _vitality_.

 

It was dreamlike.

 

“And you’re positive, he—?”

 

“I heard the heartbeat.” Even Jean seemed enthralled, touching the professor’s stomach timidly. “I can show you . . .”

 

The expectant parents shared a look, then nodded in synch.

 

The ultrasound machine rolled out easily enough, and Dr. Grey warned Charles about the coolness of the jelly she’d be spreading across his stomach. He nodded and smiled slightly, still reeling from the idea of a child—his child, _Erik’s_ child—within him. And the amazement and wonder only deepened when the wand pressed down onto the swell of his abdomen and glided around until she paused and they heard a steady little heartbeat. It was small but sound, an audible representation of life, of existence.

 

“There you are.”

 

“Is it a boy?” Erik asked immediately, and Jean wore a wry smile.

 

“Unfortunately, your little bundle of joy has decided to grace us with a lovely view of his or her backside and little else. Until he, she moves, I won’t be able to tell. I could give you a guess but it would be wholly unprofessional and based on a silly old wives’ tale that has been considered a myth . . .”

 

“Yes?”

 

“By the way his stomach hangs, I would say boy.”

 

“ _Jean_.” Charles shook his head. “You know that’s complete fantasy, you can’t tell the gender by the way a stomach hangs the gender.”

 

“Yes, yes, I know, professor.” She raised her hands as if in surrender, but still smiled. “Either way, I suppose I should be saying congratulations.”

 

“I suppose that explains the unsettling in my stomach,” Charles mused. “And why I feel like my kidneys are bruised.”

 

“That would be the baby kicking.”

 

“The baby is already kicking?” Erik’s hand gravitated to Charles’ stomach as if it was made of metal, and the telepath shook his head.

 

“The baby is sleeping.”

 

“But you’ll tell me when it kicks.”

 

“Of course, darling.”


End file.
